Abu came over and handed Kysen a flat sheet of papyrus. Kysen took it and glanced at it. 'Yes. I found a single leather sandal imprint. There were others similar to this one at the prince's house, but none was an exact duplicate.'
'And the Hittites had tramped all over the areas where the bodies were found,' Abu said.
Bener came over to the group. 'I've been thinking.'
All three of them turned to look at her, but she failed to notice.
'Do demons wear leather sandals?' she asked. 'Would Eater of Souls wear them?'
'I've never seen the Devouress drawn wearing sandals or any footwear in any of the sacred books,' Kysen said.
Abu said, 'Nor I.'
Another uneasy silence fell. A loud crack made Bener jump and the men touch the daggers in their belts. They relaxed when Min knelt and picked up his stone amulet from the floor. His face turning the color of red jasper, he muttered an apology.
Meren fought back irritation at his own lack of composure. 'This is a senseless point. Demons do not wear clothing, and anyway, the sandal print is unlikely to be that of the evildoer.' He stalked away from the group, stopped at a column, and whirled around to face them. His body felt as tightly drawn as a hunting bow.
'If Eater of Souls prowls among us… that would be a matter for pharaoh. The golden one is the intermediary between his people and the gods. He causes the earth to continue in its endless cycles of birth, death, and rebirth, Harvest, Inundation, Drought, and Harvest again. Only pharaoh has the power to intercede with the gods. He will ask Osiris, ruler of the netherworld, to summon Eater of Souls back to the land of the dead. My hope is that the Devouress rumors are false. After all, only the hearts of the dead are missing, and I don't think Eater of Souls would refrain from devouring her entire… meal.'
Meren didn't like feeling powerless. He went on, for images of what a devouring must look like threatened to enter his heart. 'We will proceed as if the evil one is mortal until we know differently.'
'And take magical precautions,' Kysen said.
'We'll protect ourselves,' Meren said. 'Now, what kinds of men use axes?'
'Soldiers,' Bener said.
Kysen gave her an irritated look. 'Almost all men know how to use an ax.'
'Priests?' Bener retorted.
'Those who perform sacrifices, Mistress Know-All. And any priest who is also a noble.'
Bener held her forefinger up in front of Kysen's face and said, 'If you would allow your heart time to consider, you'd realize that carpenters, butchers, and cooks use hand axes constantly and thus possess skill with them.'
Brother and sister took up stances facing each other. Their gazes met and held.
'I do not allow my heart to consider things that are plain to all but you,' Kysen said.
Bener gave a little snort of contempt. 'Plain? What is plain is that you don't like the notion because you didn't produce it, and I did.'
'You would have us question every joiner, carpenter, shipwright, and wood gatherer in the city,' Kysen said as he moved closer to his sister so that they were almost nose to nose. 'Who would like such a notion?'
'You deliberately misunderstand my words.'
'Enough!' Meren snapped. 'We grow too weary. We'll begin again in the morning. Abu, take Min to the barracks and give him a bed.' When the two were gone, Meren turned a scowl on his son and daughter. 'I'll thank you both to remember your rank and dignity before others. I cannot understand how you could quarrel like a couple of baboons in the presence of my aide and a watchman. Kysen, you have yet to make that visit of which you spoke, and Bener, you have a great household to manage. Go away.'
Bener whispered an apology before hurrying out of the room. Kysen left without a word, revealing by his expression that he knew better than to make excuses. When he was alone, Meren went back to his chair and slouched into it. His mood, already dim, had been soured by his children's petty bickering in the face of butchery and danger.
Now he couldn't go to bed. He would only lie awake while his irritation festered. Slumping down in his chair until his head rested on the back, Meren glanced to his side and saw a sheet of papyrus laid out on the small table next to him. Flat, polished stones held the curled sheet open. It was a description of Mugallu's body. His gaze picked up the words 'white feather,' and he immediately wondered what kind of feathers had been used, and why.
Then he realized where Bener had gotten her reasoning ability. A habit learned from her father, perhaps inherited along with her clever heart? He'd never given a thought to this-that his daughters claimed from him virtues and faults his father had passed down to him. And his mother. Without knowing it, he'd assumed and wished them to be images of Sit-Hathor. But there had been times when he'd noticed one or the other of his daughters give him a brief, sharp look. He'd never bothered to interpret that look, yet it had remained in his memory.
He'd observed the look from his oldest, Tefnut, who lived far away and would soon give birth to her first child. Closing his eyes, Meren summoned a memory. Tefnut herding her younger sisters into the central hall to greet the guests attending one of his feasts. She had spent hours drilling Bener and Isis in manners. All of them had behaved well, and Tefnut had gathered the girls at the proper time and taken them out of the hall to bed. When she came back she had given him that look, but she'd never said anything.
That look. Meren opened his eyes. Expectation, that's what it had been. Expectation, excitement, unspoken pride at a task accomplished. And eagerness. A shy eagerness, hunger. For praise. For an acknowledgment from him. A tiny sign that he had noticed, that she was worthy of his attention.
'Meren, son of Amosis,' he whispered. 'You have the perception of a block of limestone. Callous bastard.'
Bener had given him that look tonight, and again he had ignored it, as he would the glance of a slave or the panting of his favorite hunting dog. Ashamed, Meren set aside these thoughts with a vow to correct himself. But now sleep would escape him completely. Standing, he removed the stone weights and picked up the description of Mugallu's death. Reading it wouldn't invite sleep. He would think about the white feathers.
He set the sheet aside and went to a chest the size of a sarcophagus that had been set beside the master's dais. Sit-Hathor and he had collected old writings, copies of texts passed down for centuries. Sometimes he had a use for them. There was one old document, a record composed by the chief royal fowler of the pharaoh Senusret I, who ruled more than six hundred years before Meren had been born.
The house had grown quiet. All the servants had gone to bed, except those few on night duty such as the porter. One of the lamps sputtered and went out, but Meren paid no attention. Lifting the lid on the chest, he pulled out a case of documents. He read the label inscribed in black ink, put it back, and picked up another case.
'I'm sure it's in this chest,' he muttered. Searching through the other cases, he came upon one resting beneath several others. 'I knew it.'
Meren pulled the container out of the chest and carried it to his chair. He sat, opened the case, and began removing the valuable papyri one by one. 'Birds, birds, birds. It is an entire book.'
When he was halfway through the documents, his hand wrapped around a thick bundle. He set the case aside, removed the twine binding the roll of nested sheets, and unwound them. As he read, a gust of wind whistled through the window grilles. It sent the lamplight into a silent dance. Meren listened to the flutelike whistling and glanced at the cavorting shadows. Then his gaze fell back to the papyrus, and he began to read again.
When Kysen entered Ese's tavern, he wasn't alone. Narrowing his eyes against the thick fog of perfume, beer fumes, smoke from cooking fires, and the press of bodies, he looked over his shoulder at Abu.
'Cursed nursemaid,' he muttered.
Abu, who had left behind the whip and scimitar that identified him as a charioteer, met his gaze without mercy. 'The lord's orders. He said if you objected I was to tell you this is what you deserve for sending me to sniff at his heels like a hound on the scent of an escaped slave.'
'It was for his own protection.'
There was no reply from Abu, whose expression told Kysen he'd just proved his father's point.
'Oh, never mind.'
Kysen shouldered his way through a crowd that had gathered to watch a team of naked Greek acrobats. One girl, her dark hair streaming down her back in tight curls, did back flips around the central hearth. Another bounced
